


to become beloved

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-14
Updated: 2006-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had spent his whole life wanting, never satisfied.  Judas was tired of being looked at but never chosen.  Never beloved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to become beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Like the musical, set obstenibly around the time of Jesus Christ, but neither historically nor culturally accurate. Based loosely on the Transfiguration of Jesus found in the synoptic gospels.
> 
> Written for Yochan

 

 

They had been gone all afternoon. Long hours that he spent sitting in the late-summer sun, feeling the sweat sting his eyes, press his shirt sticky against his back. He had just barely missed them, come back from the Sunday morning market just as Jesus ushered them out the door.

Peter, John, and James had gone skipping after Jesus at a moment's notice. Gone off on some mysterious errand to follow their proclaimed Messiah. It was interesting that they happened to leave just when Judas didn't have his eye on Jesus, just when he had to run errands.

Judas could tell it was something important, even if no one could say where they were going. Resentment and badly concealed jealousy was in all the apostles' eyes; he could practically hear the mutterings about the sins of James, the faults of Peter. Each   
wanted to be the special one, the Son of God's favorite. Fools, the lot of them.

He was on his feet as soon as they came into sight, the sun sending long, strange shadows out ahead of them as they ambled down the way. Jesus looked fine. Exhausted and worn around the edges, but all in one piece. The others didn't appear to fare as well, looking wide-eyed and troubled, but they weren't his concern. It was Jesus, and only him, that could capture his concerns. It always had been, one look from the man had Judas' mouth dry and his heart racing. And yet it was these buffoons that Jesus took to.

Judas managed to catch Jesus' eyes for a long moment, hoping for an explanation. For where they'd gone. For why he hadn't been asked to go with him, even though he'd always been there for Jesus. For why he was being turned away now, after all this time.

But Jesus just glanced away guiltily, busied himself with removing his sandals  
instead of meeting Judas' gaze. Before, Judas would have been able to say he almost knew what Jesus was thinking, that was how close they were. Now...now Jesus wouldn't even look at him.

Judas turned on his heel and stalked into the house so no one would be able to see the fire smoldering in him or the angry twist of his mouth.

All throughout dinner, he could feel Jesus' eyes on him. Even if Judas didn't see him sneaking glances at him all evening, he'd know it was Jesus. It was like his skin came alive under his eyes, like his soul started sparking flashes of heat all through him.

Judas would never admit it, but all his life he'd never felt as good as when he looked at him. Not tonight though. Tonight ever stray glance reminded him of being left behind, having to wait because he wasn't the one chosen. Because Jesus had something important to show his beloved ones; and Judas didn't meet that mark. Despite everything he'd done.

It wasn't fair. He knew Jesus, he _knew_ Jesus. Better than all of them. And yet they were the beloved, the late comers who believed anything they were told. The ones who spun lies and tales about him that'd only catch up to him in the end. They were beloved.

As soon as dinner was over, Jesus retired to his room, pleading weariness. Likely it was just to give all the rest of them a chance to break out the wine and talk about what happened. Jesus wasn't stupid; he knew they were all going to talk regardless of what he made them vow. Wasn't in these peoples' abilities to hold promises like that.

He listened to them for a while, watched their stunned eyes as the story got bigger and bigger. No one took much notice of him. He was one of them; however wide the gulf between him and the rest of them was.

"And then there was this flash of light like- like lightning. `Cept it was all during the day, so the whole hill just went and flashed," Peter said in a hushed voice, hand curled around his mug of wine.

"And then- I swear on my life, Elijah was there, standing right next to Jesus. Casual as though you'd see him on a street corner." Judas shook his head as James jumped into the story. This was lunacy. This was a story that would just get larger and larger, same as Jesus' baptism stunt had.

"How'd you know it was Elijah?" Judas interrupted, grinning at James. "Was he wearing a name tag, maybe?"

He watched, enjoying the way James' pretty face flushed red in anger and embarrassment. Poor fellow, never was as eloquent as his brother. "I just knew, could just tell. You weren't there, you wouldn't understand."

At his last words, all the amusement in Judas disappeared, replaced by constrictive jealousy. His smiled curled up into a sneer and he pushed off the wall, stalked toward the door. "No, I guess I couldn't," he said as he threw the door open and stalked out into the street.

No one followed him. The only one who really cared about his comings or goings was Jesus, and even he didn't anymore. Judas had given the last 2 years of his life to that man, to this cause, and all it did was make him emptier.

He wandered through the streets of Capernaum with vain hopes that the familiar streets might calm the roiling anger in his heart. In a way, Judas liked the righteous anger, the bitterness in the back of his mouth. It was easier to be angry than hurt.

All the lights were long since put out when Judas wandered back to the house they were staying in for the time being. But instead of shuffling down to wear he was bedded down with the rest of the apostles, Judas pushed the curtain open into Jesus' room.   
Such a surprise, the precious Son of God wasn't on his cot. Rather, he was on his knees at the tiny window eyes shut as he prayed. Always praying when he should be sleeping, fasting when he should be eating. Judas didn't know if Jesus would have made it this long, if he didn't have someone around to remind him to eat, to tell him to open his damn eyes and talk to someone other than God.

At the first rustle of the curtain, Jesus turned, surprise in his eyes. There was something gratifying to know that you could still surprise the person who was supposed to know everything. "Judas, what are you..." He started, but Judas cut him off with a quick gesture.

"Show me. Show me what you showed them," he said shortly, reaching out and pulling Jesus to his feet. He wanted to be able to look him in the eye, to get too close and push him as far as he'd go.

"Judas..." Jesus started, and no one should be able to say his name like that. Like it was more than just a name, absolution and condemnation all wrapped up in one. "I can't. It's not that simple."

"You're supposed to be the Son of God. You can do anything. Show me," his voice was soft, almost a hiss. His fists were balled up in fists at his side as he looked at Jesus, at the unhappy curve of his mouth. Didn't like it when he was called by his proper title, but then if he didn't then he shouldn't encourage the bastards.

"I can't, Judas. It wasn't for you to see." If Judas' voice was barely a whisper, Jesus' was softer. His dark eyes were on Judas, watching him carefully, almost pleading with him to understand. Judas was tired of understanding excuses and poorly constructed fairy tales for this man. He was tired of knowing he'd believe anything, if it meant Jesus would trust him, would love him.

"Show me." His hand curled into Jesus' tunic, keeping him close even though Jesus wasn't moving away. Judas wasn't sure if he wanted to hit him or...he didn't know what he wanted. Except that whatever it was, he needed it now. "You're the anointed one, Christ. You're the one who can do anything, show everyone Elijah. Why not me?"

"Judas, don't think that this is because- "Whatever else he had to say, whatever excuses and platitudes he wanted to weave were cut off abruptly. Judas pressed his lips hard against his, kissing him hard and hot and needy.

For all of the years of watching him, Judas had never kissed him. Had never wanted to until this moment or maybe he had all along. He didn't know. Didn't know anything any more, and it was this man's fault.

Jesus' lips were warm and yielding against his, chapped from years of the sun and wind. They felt clean and good against his own; for all of the gossip of Jesus' bastard divinity, his lips felt human. His panting breath was hot against Judas' mouth as he started to pull away with a word of vague apology and a guilty flush of his cheeks.

Judas would have none of it. Not now, not after all this time, this long afternoon of waiting in the sun as the beloved were shown the wonders of the universe. Judas would be beloved, for this night. He snarled his fingers in Jesus' hair, keeping him close as he pressed their mouths together again.

Jesus, for all his purity, kissed like he had long practice. In that long moment of their second kiss, there was wet, slick bliss in the heat of his mouth opening for Judas, a hunger that was there for him. For him. Not for James' pretty skin or the sly smile of Mary, but for him.

That was what made Judas' hand snap out to grab Jesus' wrist as he started to push him away again. The knowledge that part of Jesus wanted him, wanted the slide of his tongue and the heat of his skin. It didn't much matter to Judas if Jesus himself hadn't realized it yet.

Jesus never was good at seeing things right in front of him or realizing what he wanted. That was what he had Judas around for.

A sharp nip to his bottom lip made Jesus gasp, opening his mouth reflexively to Judas' ministrations. Tentatively, tentatively his mind opened up to Judas' intentions as his body grew warmer, affected by the press of his hips and the heat of his mouth despite himself.

Carefully, as slowly as a lamb coming to a shepherd for the first time, Jesus kissed him. If there was absolution in his voice and heaven in his eyes, then there was rapture and ecstasy beyond telling in his kiss. Judas hadn't wanted, hadn't thought to want this from him. But now that he had it, he knew he'd spend his whole life trying to get it again.

It felt wicked, maybe, the slick slide of his tongue against Judas' or the greedy hand that curled up around his neck to keep him close. But Judas had always been there, from the beginning and even before that, if there was a time when this whole ineffable plan wasn't in motion. Judas had always been there, and if Jesus couldn't give him salvation then he could at least give him this.

Judas groaned when he felt the pressure of Jesus' erection against his thigh, a spike of heat shuddering through him. He wanted to lay him out, spread Jesus out on the cot and make him come undone in a dozen ways. He wanted to find out what spots made Jesus ticklish, what sensitive spots made him moan and gasp.

He had spent his whole life wanting, never satisfied. Judas Iscariot was a driven man. But with Jesus against his mouth and under his hands, he had never known a want like this.

But he was too desperate now for careful caresses, too hasty to dwell on Jesus' collarbone or the taste of his cock. More than anything, now Judas wanted to see him come apart, wanted to know what Jesus looked like when he went all to pieces. He shoved a hand up Jesus' tunic, running his hand up over his chest hungrily.

Jesus twisted his hips impatiently, wanting more, wanting skin against his. He rocked against Judas, deliberately rubbing against the man's erection, trying to urge him on as best he could.

At the friction against his cock, Judas groaned. Even more than the pressure rubbing against, Jesus' insistent whine, and his obvious hunger made Judas want more than he'd ever known. Hastily, he wriggled his hand through Jesus' clothes, letting out a quiet hiss of satisfaction as his fingers closed around his hard, damp cock.

Jesus' whole body went tense at the first brush of calloused fingers against him, then he abruptly went limp against him, moaning and arching up to the touch. The world had narrowed to the skin of Judas' neck under his mouth and the insistent throbbing in his cock.

He wasn't gentle with him, didn't take the time to figure out just what made Jesus arch and moan. He was just a man, after all, and what felt good for one was true for all. Quick fingers curled around him and made quick work of it, taking the care to swipe his thumb over the head of his cock on every stroke.

Jesus could feel his cheeks flushing, his breath coming in panting gasps as he thrust against his hand. His own fingers were twisted into Judas' tunic, keeping him close as he rocked up against him desperately. He pressed hot, needy kisses up over his jaw up to his lips, pushing his tongue into his mouth forcefully. He was quickly losing all semblance of control; it'd been so long, Judas' hand slid up and down his cock just exactly the way he wanted, needed.

Judas canted his hips just so, letting him thrust against Jesus' thigh, easily falling into the same rhythm as his hands. It'd be better if they didn't still have clothes between them, just the slick of skin sliding against skin. But Judas was too impatient, too hungry for it to take any more time. Already, he could feel himself getting closer, a throbbing heat pooling in him. Couldn't last when he had Jesus' cock in his hand, his mouth at his neck.

With a quiet whine, Jesus rocked against Judas, rubbing up against him desperately. Wanted it, needed to feel the rush, was so close to tipping over the edge. When Judas' clever, wicked thumb swiped at the head of his cock again, Jesus snapped his hips forward once, twice then arched up, coming with a long moan.

Oh, God.

Judas had never felt closer to the rush of God than he did right then. Feeling Jesus arch against him, the warm come slicking up his fingers. The look on his face, oh, Judas had never seen anything so golden as the look of Jesus' face just now. A few more moments of rubbing up against him, and Judas was coming too, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to watch Jesus the whole time.

He came down slowly, shuddering and leaning in close instinctively. Only after all the heat had rushed through him, leaving a warm, lazy buzz did Judas realize that Jesus had gone rigid against him. It took him another moment to notice that his hands, that cured the sick and had been wound white-knuckled in Judas' tunic moments before, were at his side.

Jesus was standing the way he did as he waited for the healed to collect themselves. Not bored, exactly, but separate now. Lost in his own head, talking to God or Moses or whoever he fancied lived in his head.

Judas would wrestle the devil himself for this man, had found salvation in the taste of his skin, and now Jesus was disinterested. Pulling back abruptly, Judas wiped his damn hand on his tunic, pulling at it to put it in a semblance of order. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to see the look in Jesus' eyes.

"This can't...Judas," Jesus said softly, reaching out to push the hair out of Judas' eyes carefully. But it wasn't, even that touch, didn't have any intimacy in it. Not anymore. The same careful touch of a teacher, a friend.

That wasn't enough, anymore. Now that Judas had seen, now that he knew what he could have from him. It wasn't going to be enough. He pulled away from the touch, taking a step back from him.

"You should get some rest," he got out gruffly, eyes still on the ground. Didn't want to know what Jesus looked like right now, flushed and sated. He knew he'd never be able to leave if he did.

Without waiting for a response, Judas turned on his heel and left. Better silence than excuses for why Jesus couldn't again, when they both knew he wanted to. Same as he couldn't show Judas what Peter knew, regardless of how much he claimed to want to. Because whatever he did to become beloved, Judas never, ever would be.

It didn't mean that he could leave now, pull away and leave Jesus to his own devices now, however much Judas may want to. And he did want to, almost as badly as he wanted to see Jesus' mouth wrapped around his cock. But he knew he would get to do no such things. No one could pull away from Jesus, once he had looked him in the eye and promised to follow him.

Judas would keep following, then. He would show up to breakfast and smile and talk. It would all be the same as it was, except irrevocably stained. Not with knowing the sounds of his whines, his moans. But knowing that afterwards, however much Judas wanted and needed, Jesus wouldn't give him anything.

Not then, not ever.

Learning that changed everything.

 


End file.
